


it's okay until it's not and i'm back there

by goandneverlookback



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lesbians, Past Child Abuse, Series of One Shots, Trauma, disordered eating?, i just want soft lesbian content but i only know how to write angst, projection who??, relationships, sometimes i'm a sad bean and i write to be less sad, vague physical abuse, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goandneverlookback/pseuds/goandneverlookback
Summary: A series of one shots trying to navigate a relationship when you've got a history of personal traumaCW for a lot of things. Title from Everybody Loves You, specifically The Chicks cover, which I don't recommend listening to on repeat if you value your emotional stability.Also know as I get sad and I write soft lesbian content to deal with inner angst.
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory statement that this fic is in no way connected to the actual people behind T+K, because some of y'all don't know boundaries. If any of this hits home with y'all or you just need someone to talk to, hmu. Hope everyone is well <3

The soft light above the stove illuminates the kitchen as she leans against the counter, knuckles white around the blanket she's shrouded herself in. Her mind still races, fighting the replay in her mind. The memories still come around, sometimes anticipated, sometimes when she least expects it. His face flashes before her mind's eye. She remembers how he felt shaking in her arms. She remembers the feeling of not being able to find him. The terror, the intense, haunting feeling of guilt. She still wakes sometimes, as she did tonight, heart racing, pounding out of her chest, her mind convinced it hadn't been for attention, that they hadn't found him in time, that everything had ended differently. Sometimes she wonders if that had been the case if things would've been...she doesn't know the word she's looking for. Not better. Not easier. Just...different, if things had had a distinct ending, rather than the months and months of sleepless nights and threats to try again and refusal to participate in treatment and time after time when he would remind her she's not enough, that she never will be. She remembers that summer, and the way she poured out her heart and soul to help kids when she was practically a kid herself, because she didn't want anyone else to feel the way she had for so long. She didn't mention it for a long time, keeping the haunting hurt close to her chest. And then one day Katya had come home from work disgruntled. She'd asked how she felt. "Like shit," she'd said, and Trixie had gone white, the look in her eyes miles and miles away. All of a sudden she's back there, and he's storming past her, following the same question and the same exact answer, and then half an hour later he...And then there were gentle hands on her either side of her face, softly cupping her cheeks as she brings her back to the present with soothing words. She's there, and she's looking at Trixie with concern in place of the frustration of the day. And the tears begin to fall, and she can't keep it inside anymore, and she tells Katya of that summer, and of the one that followed, filled with loneliness and self isolation and guilt and uncertainty. And Katya listens, offering a word of comfort here and there, rubbing circles into the back of Trixie's hand with her thumb. And when Trixie is done she asks if there's any other phrases she should avoid, and she holds Trixie in her arms, giving Trixie someone to hold onto for once, when for so long she's had to be the strong one. Walls upon walls begin to crack as they sit there. And then it's this morning, months and months after that moment, years after the incident, and gentle arms wrap around Trixie from behind as she stares into the mug of tea she's been absentmindedly stirring. Trixie leans back into the solid presence of Katya as she whispers in her ear. She tugs Trixie to the sofa, and when half the tea is gone she shares where her mind was at this morning, and Katya listens, and reminds her of the truth, and reminds her that she is strong and incredible and that she is always, always enough. And they fall back asleep there, empty mug set aside, shadows beneath Trixie's eyes as she lays on her girlfriend's chest, ear pressed close against her heartbeat as exhaustion overtakes her. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: emotional abuse, child abuse, eating disorders, anxiety, depression, suicidal ideation, self harm

Tears stain her cheeks as she stares at herself in the mirror, resenting what she sees. She doesn’t want to go back there, doesn’t want to see everyone, but she can’t not. It was sudden. It’s too soon. But he kept her together when everything was falling apart. When everyone else was questioning why she had gone from a bubbly ray of sunshine to a loner, an introvert, who sat in the library with a cup of coffee during lunch, who never seemed to lose the dark shadows under her eyes, who never seemed to smile anymore, he was quietly there, building her up, not asking, not pushing, just keeping on. She can hear their words echoing through her mind, see their faces all over again. There’s her mother’s voice in her ear, yelling at her for anything and everything that might’ve gone wrong that day. There’s her father, asking her if she even likes who she is anymore, and when she manages to choke out ‘no,’ the look on his face when he nods in agreement. There’s the mostly quiet anger at anything she finds solace in. There’s Sunday after Sunday of sermons with pointed side eyes and she knows they think she’s going to hell, even with all they don’t know about her, all they can’t know about her. She thinks even if hell is real, it couldn’t be worse than this godforsaken country town. She tugs at the long sleeves she fought for years to forgo, hearing her mother’s voice in her head, the judgement in their faces when they remind her to take a sweater on the way to the family gathering. Because there everyone needs to believe they’re the perfect family. No one needs to know what goes on at home. No one needs to know how fucked up she is. No one needs to know she’d rather be dead. No one needs to know how much she actively wants to die. No one needs to know about the year of nights she stayed awake pacing, panic gripping her like a vice, until she breaks down in tears and shaky breaths, finding relief in the silver blade of her knife, punishing herself in yet another way that just felt so right. No one needs to know the words she wrote about herself. There’s the therapy appointments she’s forced into, the ones she can’t say anything at because her parents are in the room and she can’t make them leave. There’s the medication she’s forced to take, even though it never did any good. There’s the stares from the girls at ballet, the ones she had to be around in nothing but a spaghetti strap leotard and sheer pink tights. There’s the younger girls who asked what happened, and the way she wanted to throw up but instead forced a laugh and told them stories about the many cats they had at their house. There’s the sneer on her father’s face, the anger and condescension in his voice as he tell her how stupid she’s being, that there’s only a hundred calories in a handful of nuts, and that’s not enough, There’s the girls she used to be friends with, the ones who abandoned her for someone else, leaving her ostracized and alone. There’s the disdain in her parents’ voices when they talk about how good of a job she did in the fall drama, because her character was terrified and hurting and alone, and goddamn if she didn’t have depths of emotion to spill out onto the stage. There’s the way they had called her a monster when she had tried to help, the way they pulled her last bit of support out from under her, the way they had demonized her for struggling. There’s the way she moved out, and she found the will to live, and she found her own feet to stand on, and they referred to everything that had happened as ‘a rough patch,’ and absolved themselves of all blame whenever it was brought up again, the way the blame was turned on her when she nearly begged for her mother to get into therapy. There’s the way she fought for her space and her independence and her sanity and she learned about herself and the way she grew up. There’s the years it took her from the time she first learned there was more abuse than just physical and sexual, until the time she could almost say yes, that’s what it was. There’s the way she looked back and saw her mother taking out her stress on her from the time she was a toddler, the way everyone had always said there was something special about her, the way they all called her wise. There’s all of these smothering her chest, making it hard to breath, swirling in her head until she cannot see, cannot think. Strong arms turn her away from the mirror and pull her close, whispering in her ear, one arm holding her tight while the fingers of the other stroke through her hair. “Why didn’t anyone do anything?” Her voice comes out choked and high pitched, clogged with tears still streaming down her face, soaking the other girl’s chest. So many had to have noticed something, and yet, nothing. But neither girl has the answers. All they have is the here, and the now, and the counting down of the days until the past can return to its rightful place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little heavy y'all. Comment and let me know which girl you read as which person in this one. Be safe, and be kind to yourself. Come talk to me if you ever need someone to listen. Love you all <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW anxiety, abuse (not super heavy stuff but like idk id rather put it here and not have it be totally accurate than not have it and effect someone), eating issues?

Her hands tremble as she stares at her phone, messaged typed and just waiting to send. Over the past week she's gone back and forth and back and forth and to be honest, she's still not sure she shouldn't just buck up and deal with it. It could be worse. But she's older now, wiser, stronger. She hits send and immediately puts her phone face down on the table next to her, picking up her guitar to calm her shaking hands and nervous mind. She's barely through the first verse when her phone vibrates.

_K: of course you can come stay, bitch_

_K: you know you don't have to ask, just show up with pajamas_

_K: or no pajamas ;)_

Trixie breathes out a sigh of relief, both at Katya's response and it's jovial nature. She packs the instrument into its case and grabs her backpack, shooting Katya a quick thank you and that she'd be there soon. Trixie jostles and sways with the train as she tries to come up with what to say to Katya, but nothing seems to suffice and she does her best to put it out of her mind. She bounds up the steps and presses the buzzer, bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation of seeing her girlfriend. There's a rumbling of footsteps and Trixie's face breaks into a smile of relief at the smaller blonde in front of her. It's not until the smile looking up at her slides of Katya's face that she realizes the past few weeks must be more evident than she could see in herself. Katya didn't mean to wear her emotions on her face, but as she takes in the sight before her it's hard not to. Dark shadows carve circles underneath Trixie's big brown eyes, and even her signature braids can't conceal how many days it's been since Trixie has showered. The divets in her full cheeks are more pronounced than they usually are, and Katya can't miss the way she never stays still, the way her eyes keep moving, even as she smiles.

"Come on in, baby." Trixie's smile falters at the softness of Katya's voice.

"Thanks for letting me crash here. I really appreciate it." Trixie tries to keep her voice light and cheery. It's just a sleepover. For fun. Right?

"Зайка, you're always welcome here." There's a hesitancy at the end of Katya's words, the air full of unasked questions.

"I know." Trixie's voice is small as she studies the floorboards, tracing their patterns with a bare toe.

"Милая--" Trixie cuts Katya off, squeezing her eyes tight against the panicked tears threatening behind her eyes.

"Can we just--I don't know, watch a movie or something tonight? Just, please?" The desperation in Trixie's voice has Katya silent, nodding after a brief pause. She doesn't want to push Trixie to talk if she doesn't want to, and she looks...fine? She doesn't appear to be in any physical pain. And so Katya concedes, for now at least. She nods towards the kitchen, because what is a movie night without snacks? But she doesn't miss the way Trixie hesitates before following her, or the way she shrugs at any food Katya suggests, or when the cabinet door slips out of Katya's hand and slams shut and Trixie flinches so hard she almost hits her head on the wall beside her. She doesn't miss it, but she doesn't mention it. _My Fair Lady_ plays on the screen of Katya's computer as Trixie nibbles at the bowl of popcorn, hesitantly edging closer until Katya closes the gap and wraps her arms around her. She swears she could hear Trixie's heart beating out of her chest as she went stiff as a board before melting into Katya's embrace. By the second act of the movie, they've migrated to Katya sitting on one end of the couch, Trixie's arms wrapped around her waist with her head in her lap, Katya's fingernails dragging along her scalp as they trail through Trixie's now unbraided hair. It’s not long before Trixie’s eyelids are fluttering closed, her breaths shallow and even. In her sleep she breathes so softly you can barely notice. The first few times they slept at each other’s places, Katya had to wake Trixie up to make sure she was okay, that she wasn’t dead, and Trixie had just rolled over and wrapped her arms around Katya’s torso, reassuring her that she wasn’t getting rid of her that easily, she’s stuck with her. Over time, Katya grew accustomed to Trixie’s slumber, often wrapping her arms around Trixie with her head pressed between her shoulder blades, letting her steady heartbeat lull her to sleep when she wakes at odd hours. Tonight takes Katya back to those early nights, with Trixie washed out and pale against the dark shadows of exhaustion, giving in to sleep far earlier than is usual for her. The movie ends and Katya sits for a while longer, running her fingers through her girlfriend’s hair, thoughts tumbling over and over in her mind as the clock ticks past midnight. As gently as she can, she nudges Trixie out of her sleep, and she doesn’t miss the way her breath hitches and her eyes are wide before her surroundings set in and she rubs her face with a weary hand. Katya stands and holds out her hands, pulling Trixie into a hug before holding her hand as they walk to the bedroom. She murmurs to the taller blonde as they crawl into bed, asking if she works tomorrow and receiving a silent shake of the head in return. Trixie curls into Katya’s chest as she presses her lips to the crown of Trixie’s head, both falling into a restless slumber. 

When Katya wakes, the sun is beginning to spill through the window and the scent of coffee already fills the apartment. She pads into the living area and finds Trixie curled in the corner of the couch wearing one of Katya’s hoodies, nose in a book and a cup of coffee held close to her chest. Katya drops a kiss on the top of Trixie’s head as she passes by for her own morning caffeine. When she comes back to settle on the other end of the couch, Trixie sets her book aside and fixes her gaze on Katya. Words roll around in her head, none of them sounding like a good enough explanation in the light of day. She takes a slow, deep breath, giving Katya time to shake the sleep from her eyes before the truth comes spilling out. She doesn’t talk a lot about the past, most often in jokes, but almost never how sometimes it all still impacts her today. By the time Katya’s empty coffee mug hits the end table, her blue eyes are clear and energized for the day, and focused on Trixie. She drops her gaze briefly. She’d forgotten how much Katya’s eyes pierce through her and see clear to her heart. The question hangs in the air, Trixie just needs to go for it.

“My roommates are...feuding.” Katya just hums in acknowledgement, the care and evident in her face prompting her further. “It’s stupid, really. It’s not even over anything important. But they, um, I don’t know? Didn’t handle things like adults? Which is frustrating because I’m the second youngest of the six people living in the house, and the one acting the least mature is four years older than me.” She takes a deep breath from her rambling, forcing herself back on topic. “Anyways, there was just little stuff, like dishes thrown in the sink, doors slammed, yelling and then crying and playing the victim, y’know. Which is, y’know, not great but whatever. But I just...I needed out.” She meets Katya’s eyes, her own unintentionally wide with desperation, pleading with Katya to understand what she’s saying, praying she won’t think she’s being immature or stupid, hoping at the end of this Katya will still like her, still want to be with her. “I--” She didn’t realize how fast her heart had been pounding in her chest until one of Katya’s smaller hand reaches over to take her own, rubbing slow circles on the back with her thumb. “I tried to tell myself I was being unreasonable, but I couldn’t shake it. And I can’t afford to go back to the way things were the last time I lived somewhere I didn’t feel safe, y’know?” Trixie doesn’t talk much about her roommates in college, not in this context. Funny stories and stupid nicknames, sure. But this? “My sophomore year of college, my roommate had this boyfriend? And I don’t know. I was never super comfy with him. They play wrestled a lot, and I really didn’t care to join, but I got dragged in a few times and he never listened to me when I said no, let me go. But I hated it. And I didn’t feel safe. And then he grabbed me hard enough to bruise, and when I tried to call him out on it he said it was my fault for bruising easily. I tried to tell my parents but they said it was my fault for not saying anything to my roommates about having significant others over. So I, I kinda, didn’t handle it well. I was so scared all the time. I had no appetite, I barely slept, and I was running obsessively because in my mind, I was convinced that if I was stronger, faster, whatever, that he wouldn’t be able to hurt me anymore.” Trixie’s breath shakes as she pauses, staring down at her lap where she has Katya’s hand caught in one hand, knuckles of the other clenched white on the coffee mug. “They yelled a lot too. And so did my mom. My mom was full of what I later learned is passive violence. Her and the roommates really, slamming doors and pointed ignorance and more force than necessary with inanimate objects. There were a couple others from camp or whatever, but I think he’s the one who really blurred the line between active and passive violence for me. And I thought I was over it, but I guess I just...buried it really well.” Trixie falls silent and Katya gently takes the mug from her hand, setting it on the end table and tugging Trixie into her chest. She rattles off experiences as though they’re clinical facts, distant, detached, except for the ragged breaths in the pauses, but as her arms snake up to wrap around Katya’s neck, she can feel the way her whole body trembles. Katya holds her tight and swallows down her own emotion. “I just needed a break for a few days. Let it all blow over.” She almost misses Trixie’s hushed admission, ashamed at what she views as weakness, hating herself for asking for help and not being able to just deal with it. She does her best to push away the feelings, letting Katya’s gentle murmurings wash over her.

“Stay as long as you need, love. You’re safe here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me writing to process my feelings? Pfft. Never. Hope you're all doing well. If you ever need someone, come talk to me, loves <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw// homophobia, mentions of suicide, parents

She tries to hide her sniffles as she fights to keep from crying, crawling into bed and pressing a shaky kiss to the sharp cheekbone of the girl laying next to her. The sleeping girl doesn't stir and Trixie turns over, finally giving into the sadness that's been rising up in her all day. Tears stream down her cheeks and she can't help the way her shoulders shake, her body trembling all over. There's a shuffling from the other side of the bed and a mixture of guilt and panic floods through her. All of her muscles tense, begging her body not to betray her. But then Katya's gentle arm is snaking around her waist, her nose nuzzling in Trixie's hair, and the floodgates of her tears open anew. She shouldn't feel this way. Not now, not anymore. Katya's hand reaches up to caress her face and there's no point in hiding her sniffles anymore. Gentle hands turn Trixie around until she lays face to face with Katya, brown eyes cast down to avoid piercing blue. 

"Hey, what's going through your mind, hon?" Trixie squeezes her eyes shut tight, tears rushing forth at Katya's voice, still rough with sleep but colored with concern and care.

"It's stupid." Nimble fingers tuck long strands of blonde hair behind her ear, wipe the tears from her face, give her the strength to keep going. "It's national coming out day." She can hear the way sadness fills her voice, the midwestern drawl she's mostly lost shining through. Katya gives a hum between sympathy and understanding as she gathers Trixie in her arms, letting her tears soak her shoulder. It's something she knows Trixie carries day to day that Katya will never fully understand. Despite not fitting it in at school, struggling to find friends, Katya always knew that home was a safe space to her herself. She always had that small support system, that safety net. Trixie had...herself. And some days it didn't even feel like she had that much. Nearly a thousand miles from where she grew up, the memories still haunt her, even though by the standards of the midwest, it wasn't bad. They never hit her. They never kicked her out. They still don't know she's not straight, even though there are days in the current political climate Trixie wants to call them, knowing she'll be in tears before they even answer the phone, begging them to consider all the people whose rights will be stripped away for the next four years, the people who have to live in fear, the people who she is one of. But she knows it wouldn't make a difference. They think her rights should be stripped away, that the suicide rates of the lgbt community are acceptable, that it's okay for lgbt people to die, because they've sinned. She remembers the way her brother had talked about gay people and people who didn't want to have sex with anyone, laughing that they should just kill themselves, and the way her parents had just nodded in agreement. She remembers all the times she's thought about giving in to that feeling, asking the universe why she is here, when everything hurts too much to say, when the future feels even grimmer than the past. Trixie has known in her heart for years that she has no interest in men, but her heart stops at the idea of referring to herself as a lesbian, unable to take the label for herself without remembering the times her mother yelled at her, asking her if she was a lesbian, and Trixie vehemently denying it. She remembers the panic rising in her chest, the anger and disapproval in her mother's voice. She remembers the cemented feeling that it would never be safe as she raised her voice at her mother for the first and only time, after her mother had exclaimed that gay people are just as bad as Hitler for changing the culture. She can remember the clarity in her voice as it rang out in the kitchen of their old farmhouse, her voice unwavering as she made the point that culture is meant to be changed, that it ebbs and flows with the passage of time. She can remember standing beneath the old oak tree as her father reminded her not to set a toe out of line, out of the tightly drawn circle the expect her to fit into, lest she stress out her mom, damage her heart. Nevermind all that Trixie has learned about cardiology, anxiety, modern medicine, psychology...she cannot break the connection in her mind that being completely true to herself will result in her mother's death. She knows it's unreasonable, irrational, but she can neither bring herself to completely cut herself off from her parents nor to come out to them. Because things weren't always bad, or maybe she just didn't realize it. But there's still a part of her that wells up sometimes, craving the love and affection of a parent, the approval every kid strives for. There's days when her heart aches with secrets she wants to spill to her mom and hear her say it'll all be okay, feel her arms wrap around in the special hug only a mother can give. But she knows it'll never happen, not without significant therapy on both accounts, and she can't even vouch for follow through on her side. Most days are this bad. Most days she has the acceptance of the city she now calls home, the minor everyday successes at a job she loves, the little ways she's found to better herself in ways she enjoys, the arms of her girlfriend wrapping around her at the end of a long day, her bright smile beaming at her across the dinner table, her gentle nudges to the shoulder and kisses on the forehead to rouse her enough to take the mug of coffee held out. Most days, in most ways, she appears to be thriving. But she can't help but wonder if there will always be days like these, days when she feels so small, when she feels she's tried so hard but the one thing she desires is still held out of reach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi whores. I hope you're all somewhere safe for national coming out day, and I hope that you have peace. Love you all with all my heart <3


End file.
